


(don't you) know that i'm thankful

by fallingthorns



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie has a Dalmatian cinematic universe, Eddie has a dalmatian, Established Relationship, He is Competent, M/M, Post-Canon, Richie Tozier Can Cook, Stan Uris Lives, Thanksgiving Dinner, idk what else to say about this it's just soft, they are in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27731584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingthorns/pseuds/fallingthorns
Summary: So what if this is the first Thanksgiving he gets to have with his friends after reuniting again and defeating the clown and finding more happiness than he has ever had since they were all together in Derry as kids. These are his friends, they know him, they love him for who he is as a person and not for the kind of Thanksgiving he’s about to host.Richie’s heart flops in his chest, spinning and flipping in circles at the thought of getting to spend the whole day with Eddie. He knows it’s silly considering they’re dating, if that’s what you call it when you’re forty fucking years old, but he can’t help that his little gay heart just wants to see him as much as he possibly can.--Or, Richie hosts Thanksgiving Dinner for the first time post-Derry.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 12
Kudos: 202





	(don't you) know that i'm thankful

**Author's Note:**

> hello friends and happy thanksgiving!! I was just feeling soft this morning and this came about. I also wanted eddie to have a dog, so there's that.
> 
> This is post-clown and Eddie and Stan both survived. Don't ask how, they just did.
> 
> I did give this a quick proofread but if there's typos, apologies.
> 
> Content warnings: mentions of food and Thanksgiving dinner, alcohol mentions, brief anxiety mentions. But it's really just a tender time.
> 
> Title from Kelly Clarkson's Thankful.

Richie is determined. He has all the skills he needs to pull this off -- he can cook, he can clean, he knows how to both entertain guests and host a party. He’s a rather well-known comedian, so he thinks this should be right in his wheelhouse.

Now if only he could stop  _ panicking  _ about it, that would be great.

Richie goes through his half-scratched, half-assed grocery list one more time, knowing that he is definitely forgetting something but completely unsure and unwilling to think about it any further than what is currently on the list. He’s not a list guy, never has been a list guy -- that was always Eddie’s character trait, anyway, no need for more than Eddie and Stan and Mike in their friend group -- but he feels that for this, he at least should have  _ some _ semblance of organization.

Everything that’s on the list currently exists within his house, so that’s good. If he’s missing something then they might just have to live without it this Thanksgiving.

Richie wipes his hands off on his pants before staring at the temperature on the oven, willing it to get to his desired preheated temperature quickly. He knows he has plenty of time, he knows what he’s  _ doing _ , for fuck’s sake, this isn’t his first time cooking a turkey. He knows his way around the kitchen, thank you very much, and he knows that everyone that’s coming over today also knows it. Which, he thinks, might be adding to the pressure a little bit, because if anything isn’t absolute perfection, Richie knows he’ll take it personally the rest of the day just because of who he is as a person.

So what if this is the first Thanksgiving he gets to have with his friends after reuniting again and defeating the clown and finding more happiness than he has ever had since they were all together in Derry as kids. These are his  _ friends,  _ they  _ know him,  _ they  _ love him _ for who he is as a person and not for the kind of Thanksgiving he’s about to host. 

Richie is just about to start peeling potatoes when his phone rings, once, twice, an acoustic version of  _ Cruella de Vil _ sounding from his phone and alerting him to a phone call from one specific person.

“Go for Chef Tozier,” Richie says when he answers the phone and puts it on speaker phone, grabbing his peeler out of the drawer. 

“Hey, yeah,” Eddie’s voice sounds through the phone, loud and almost shouty but not quite loud enough for Richie to tease him about his volume. “Is it okay if Harold and I head over early? I can help you cook or clean or whatever you need. I’m just, you know. Bored. And I miss you. And Harold is spazzy as shit today.”

Richie’s heart flops in his chest, spinning and flipping in circles at the thought of getting to spend the whole day with Eddie. He knows it’s silly considering they’re dating, if that’s what you call it when you’re forty fucking years old, but he can’t help that his little gay heart just wants to see him as much as he possibly can.

“Come on over, Eduardo,” Richie says, smiling even though Eddie can’t see him. “Harry can run around in the yard.”

“Perfect. We’ll be there in twenty. And that’s not his fucking name”

Eddie hangs up the phone, and Richie looks at his lockscreen once the call is ended. It’s a picture of Eddie and Harold, their faces squished together and Harold’s tongue lolling out of his mouth. Eddie got him exactly two weeks after returning from Derry, leaving his wife, and moving to California to live in a house down the road from Richie. He showed up at Richie’s doorstep exactly 16 hours after moving into the house with a Dalmatian puppy cradled in his arms and a panicked look in his eye, loudly self-declaring a midlife crisis and coming out and claiming that he wasn’t stable enough to be a dog-dad all in one sentence. Richie had blinked at him and glanced down at the wiggling puppy in his arms, and Eddie’s second sentence was one that could have been completely disastrous but instead changed their entire relationship and probably saved them months of yearning.

“So, yeah, I’m gay and I think I’m in love with you. Wait. No, fuck. That sounds bad. I know I’m in love with you and now I have this fucking dog and I don’t even know how to take care of myself but. Yeah. Think I’ve loved you since we were ratty kids running around Derry.”

Richie took the dog from Eddie’s arms and set it on the wood floor, pulled Eddie into the house, closed the door, and kissed him like it was the last thing he would ever get to do.

Richie blinks back down at his unpeeled potatoes, startled out of his wandering thoughts. He needs today to be perfect, needs to show Eddie what a good turkey tastes like after Eddie complained for several long-winded minutes about how every turkey he’s ever had in his whole life was dry as shit.

Richie’s turkey will not be dry as shit.

He’s peeling his third potato when he hears a key in the front door, followed by the slight creak as the door is pushed open and the thundering of four paws as they run towards Richie.

“Harold, no jumping,” Eddie says sternly, his voice still coming from the doorway as Richie assumes he takes off his shoes and jacket. Richie glances to his left and sees Harold bounding at him, and he gets down into a crouch before Harold can jump. No yelling necessary if the dog can’t jump up.

Harold solidly slobbers up his face before bounding off to the living room where he knows Richie keeps a spare dog bed and a basket of toys for him. Richie stands back up with a groan, wipes his face off with the bottom of his shirt, and turns around just as Eddie walks into the room. 

“Hey,” Eddie says softly, coming up to stand in front of Richie. His hand reaches out to play with the hem of Richie’s white t-shirt, his fingers slipping just under the collar and rubbing gently at Richie’s bare chest. “You look a little crazy.”

Richie huffs out a laugh and wraps an arm around Eddie’s waist, pulling him close and pressing a kiss to the top of Eddie’s head. “Not crazy, just . . .” He trails off, unsure how to finish the sentence without revealing that he may physically shrivel away if a single thing goes wrong today. 

Eddie leans in and kisses him, and Richie kisses him back and lets himself forget for a moment about his internal panic. He forgets about the potatoes on the counter and the preheating oven and the half-scratched, half-assed list on the refrigerator.

“I love you,” Eddie whispers once they pull apart, his hand sliding to the back of Richie’s head and tangling with his curls. “Today will be perfect no matter what. Just because it’s you and our friends and we’re actually all here and alive.”

Richie wraps both arms around Eddie’s waist and kisses him again, pressing him gently against the counter and kissing him like he never wants to let him go. Which, as Richie thinks about it, he doesn’t really plan to.

Eddie sighs into his mouth and tugs gently at Richie’s hair, and Richie realizes that of everything, he is thankful for this, for Eddie warm and alive and in his kitchen, Eddie mid-midlife crisis with a half-grown Dalmatian puppy that is currently probably causing havoc in Richie’s living room. For now, the potatoes and the turkey don’t matter. Nothing matters other than Eddie’s mouth on his and the warm feeling of love that rests in Richie’s chest.

* * *

Eddie, for all his talents and his meticulous character traits, is a work-in-progress in the kitchen. Richie cooks for him regularly, trying to teach him the ins-and-outs of simple recipes, but Richie doesn’t trust him with a stove at all. He lets Eddie finish peeling the potatoes, which Richie thinks was the best decision ever because Eddie is incredibly focused on his task, his tongue pointing out of his mouth as he works to get most of the peel off. 

Richie checks on the turkey in the oven, crouching down and peering in to see if it’s popped yet. He stands back up with a groan, his knees popping as he comes to upright as he glances at the time. There’s not much else to do until everyone’s here. The potatoes are ready to be mashed and the pies are ready and the turkey should be ready to be carved by the time everyone is ready to eat. 

“Rich,” Eddie’s voice sounds from the opposite side of the kitchen by the refrigerator. “Do you want me to start the pumpkin pies?”

Richie freezes, his eyes wide as he glances around at everything throughout the stove. He has the potatoes, both normal and sweet, the stuffing is in the turkey, the cranberries are on the stove. Stan and Patty are bringing the vegetables, per Eddie’s request, Bill and Mike are bringing a ham for some unknown reason, and Bev and Ben are bringing something Bev calls her ‘Thanksgiving Special,’ which Richie is almost slightly afraid to find out what it is. Richie, however, was supposed to provide a pumpkin pie, which he seems to have completely forgotten about.

“Uh,” Richie stammers, feelings his heart start to pound in his chest. He knows pumpkin pie is one of Eddie’s favorites, and he wanted to impress him because he knows that he makes a  _ mean _ pumpkin pie. “I don’t think I have the stuff for it.”

Eddie closes the refrigerator and turns to shrug at Richie. “That’s fine, Rich. We have more than enough food.”

And Richie knows this, he can  _ see _ it spread out throughout his kitchen, but -- no pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving? The one thing Eddie said he actually enjoyed and Richie forgot because he couldn’t be bothered to make a list beyond his half-assed, half-scratched out grocery list.

“Sorry,” Richie mumbles, feeling like he wants to curl in on himself. He knew, knew in the bottom of his heart that he was going to mess something up, he  _ always _ messes something up, everything he touches somehow turns out to be a disaster --

“Hey,” Eddie whispers. Richie blinks and Eddie is suddenly standing right in front of him. His hands are on either side of Richie’s face, forcing him to look at him, his thumbs stroking circles on both sides of Richie’s cheeks. “Sweetheart. Everything is perfect, Rich. You and me? The good thing about us? Is that we’re in this for the long-haul, right?”

Richie nods and rests his forehead against Eddie’s, letting his eyes drop shut and focusing on the feeling of Eddie’s hands against his cheeks. He wraps both arms around Eddie’s waist, holding him close and smiling a little when he feels Eddie press his forehead against his and press a small kiss to his cheek. Richie isn’t sure where Eddie’s going with his little speech, but he knows Eddie well enough to understand that Eddie’s not done and he knows not to interrupt him.

“That means you can make me a personal pumpkin pie later. When it’s just you and me and we don’t have to share.”

Richie nods, because he knows this, he knows it’s not the end of the world and that he knows his cooking skills in general are enough to woo Eddie, as is evidenced by the amount of times Eddie will press him against the counter and kiss him, which surprisingly hasn’t happened today.

“And,” Eddie continues, voice low, his fingers sliding down the side of Richie’s neck and slipping under the collar of Richie’s t-shirt again. Richie grins -- maybe the plain white v-neck look is really doing something for Eddie. “You know I find your kitchen competence attractive.”

Richie laughs as Eddie ducks his head, a slight blush forming across his cheeks. Richie hugs him closer to his body until they’re pressed tight, ducking down and burying his face in Eddie’s shoulder. He inhales once, twice, letting the scent of Eddie fill his lungs and his thoughts and erase any of the negative feelings that were still lingering in his brain.

“If you had told me last year that someone would find me hot in the kitchen, I would have called you fucking crazy,” he says with a laugh. Eddie shoves his shoulder and Richie presses a soft kiss to the side of Eddie’s neck.

Richie is just about to lift his head up to kiss Eddie when he feels Harold wedging his way between them, his tail wagging as he gives them a big doggie-grin, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he looks between the two of them. Richie feels so much love in his heart, love that he didn’t have this time last year and that he didn’t think he would have ever. He reaches down to pet the top of Harold’s head, smiling when he nuzzles under his hand to direct Richie’s pets in whatever directly he desires.

“Your dog is fucking needy.” 

Eddie laughs and the sound is always music to Richie’s ears.

Richie changes into a sweater and jeans, one of his only tops that has a tamer pattern on it. He wants to look like -- well, like a half-sophisticated adult, like someone who is worthy of cooking a Thanksgiving dinner for his boyfriend and his closest friends. He looks at himself in the mirror and adjusts his glasses. He’s just if he should do anything with his hair when he sees Eddie come up behind him and wrap his arms around him from behind.

“I can feel your anxiety, Rich,” Eddie murmurs into his shoulder. His hands smooth down the front of Richie’s chest and he presses a kiss to Richie’s shoulder. “Sweetheart. Everything will be perfect.”

Richie knows this. He knows the turkey is cooked to perfection because it always is when he makes it. The mashed potatoes will be the perfect consistency because they always are, and they may not have a pumpkin pie, but Richie now knows he can make one for them another day when it’s just him and Eddie, when Eddie can eat it in the comfort of Richie’s bed with his hair all ruffled as they watch a movie. 

Richie doesn’t know where he would be right now if things were the same as last year, if he hadn’t received that fateful call to Derry that was somehow the best and worst thing to happen to him. He would probably still be in his house, making dinner for himself and maybe for his elderly, widowed neighbor that he sometimes cooks for. He would drink one-too-many beers and flip through channels the whole night before falling asleep on the couch, waking up the next morning as if there was never even a holiday at all.

But now, he stands in his bathroom with Eddie with love and warmth in his chest as they wait for the rest of their friends to arrive. He feels braver, calmer, more like himself than he’s felt since he was 13-years-old and fighting the clown for the first time.

The doorbell rings and Eddie extracts himself from Richie, pausing to straighten his shirt before smiling at him in the mirror. “I’ll get it,” Eddie says as he presses a kiss to Richie’s cheek, the slight scruff on Richie’s face rubbing against his face and making Eddie scrunch his face up in a way that Richie thinks is just adorable. “You look really good, by the way.”

Eddie leaves the bathroom and gets the door, and Richie straightens out his sweater and laughs when he hears Harold barking his greeting at their friends at the door.

They all somehow arrived at the same time, and by the time Richie makes his way out of the bathroom, all of the Losers are hugging Eddie in the kitchen. Richie smiles at them and heads over towards the oven to pull the turkey out and start cutting it. He moves the potatoes to a bowl for mashing and he’s just about to start mashing them when he feels several pairs of arms wrap around him and hug him. Richie lets out a startled squeak and looks at his friends behind him, pulling him into a group hug, laughing and shouting their greetings in his ear. He feels it in his heart again, that new warmth that he’s still not used to, the feeling of wanting and being wanted that he went so long without.

Bill pries the masher out of Richie’s hand and begins mashing the potatoes. Mike finds the largest knife he can find and begins carving the turkey with more finesse than Richie thinks he could ever manage. Bev begins putting all the food in Richie’s set of nice dishes, and Ben begins setting the table with a tablecloth that Stan and Patty brought. Harold is following Bill around, hoping that he’ll drop something as he transfers food from the counter to the table, his tail wagging behind him as he nudges against his legs to let Bill know he’s there and waiting. Suddenly, Richie finds himself with nothing to do but stand by the dining room, watching all his friends laugh and talk as they prepare all the food Richie made throughout the day.

Eddie bumps his hip into Richie’s and smiles at him. He’s looking at Richie with wide eyes and a fond smile, and Richie leans over and presses a soft kiss to his lips. 

They eat and everything is, thankfully, amazing. Everyone compliments Richie’s cooking skills, all of them aware that he can cook but still always genuinely surprised by his skill. Richie feels himself growing warmer with every compliment, his face reddening as he realizes, not for the first time, that his friends genuinely like him and like his presence and all acknowledge that he is  _ good.  _ Not even that he’s good at cooking, just that he’s  _ good.  _

Eddie’s foot knocks his under the table, and he reaches over and grabs Richie’s hand, squeezing it once, a quick  _ hello, I love you, _ before letting it go and returning to his meal. Richie thinks that Eddie might be able to read his mind, because he always seems able to know what he’s thinking and when he needs a gentle reminder of the love Eddie has for him.

As everyone’s finishing up, Richie looks around at his friends, at Eddie sitting next to him and smiling at him, at Harold with his head on Richie’s thigh, trying to convince him to give him a piece of turkey with his eyes. He looks at everything he got within the past year, his new-old friends who have somehow completely changed his life.

Eddie is currently looking at him curiously, Richie’s silence the past few minutes becoming more obvious as the others get louder with each additional sip of their hard cider and wine and whiskey. Richie clears his throat and Eddie raises an eyebrow at him as the rest of their friends turn to look at him.

“Hey, uh,” Richie stammers, clearing his throat again. This should be the easy part, he performs for a living, but. Those are strangers. These are the people who matter most to Richie, and he actually wants to try and be sincere for once. “Thanks for coming. I know it might not be, you know, the best or most fancy --” 

“Turkey isn’t dry as shit, so it already wins,” Eddie deadpans, causing Richie to laugh and releasing some of the tension he knows he was holding in his shoulders.

“But I’m just. Extremely thankful for all of you. I don’t remember, uh, you know. Ever being this happy.”

Eddie squeezes his thigh under the table as the others all get up and hug him where he’s sitting. He feels Bev press a kiss to his temple as Mike rustles his hair and Stan kisses his other cheek. Eddie’s hand keeps rubbing up and down his thigh, and Richie thinks that this, right now, might be the first time he’s felt truly content.

Later that evening, they’re gathered in Richie’s living room with some Hallmark holiday movie playing. Richie and Eddie are under a blanket and smushed together in Richie’s armchair while the others are spread out across the living room on his various other furniture items. Harold’s head is resting on Richie’s foot from where he’s lying on the ground, his tail wagging in his sleep as he dreams whatever dreams a Dalmatian has after eating too much human food. Eddie presses a soft kiss to Richie’s jaw, and Richie knows that this is his future. He doesn’t have to go back to being alone. No more holidays spent by himself and with his elderly neighbor; no more cooking only for himself and his occasional visitor. No more wondering if he’s worthy or capable of love, because now he knows that he is. He has it and he never wants to let it go.

“I never want to let you go,” Richie murmurs into Eddie’s hair, and Eddie hums where his face is tucked against Richie’s chest. 

“Then don’t,” Eddie mumbles, his voice laced with sleep. “You’d be a shithead if you did right now, anyway.”

“I’m a shithead all the time,” Richie replies. Eddie laughs out his agreement, and Richie smiles against his hair before pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Harold lifts his head up at the sound of Eddie’s laughter, his tail thumping against the floor in excitement.

“Thankful for you,” Eddie whispers, lifting his head up to look Richie in the eyes. “You’re the best thing to happen to me.”

Richie leans in and kisses him, his hand holding Eddie’s face close to his, and he thinks he could stay like this forever. Harold stands up on his back paws, his front paws resting on Richie’s thighs as he comes upright and looks at both of them as they kiss. Eddie makes a noise at Harold, telling him to shoo without using any words, but Harold just barks at him once before pawing at Eddie’s arm in protest.

“Fucking nuisance,” Eddie grumbles as he pulls away from Richie’s mouth to pet the top of Harold’s head. Stan and Bill are laughing at them from the other side of the living room, and Harold seems to take their laughter as his cue to jump up onto the chair with them. He flops dramatically across both of their laps, his head resting on the arm rest as his tail swings idly, knocking against Richie’s arm with each wag. 

“He’s your dog,” Richie says, and Eddie grumbles but strokes the top of Harold’s head with his hand that isn’t still rubbing at Richie’s shoulder.

They sit like that for what feels like forever. Eddie’s head slowly makes its way back towards Richie’s shoulder, and Richie wraps his arm around him to hold him closer. Harold shifts in their laps, letting out a grunt as they have to move him a single centimeter to make themselves more comfortable. 

He may have forgotten the pumpkin pie, but in hindsight, it’s not the pie that mattered. It’s the people and the love and the warm feeling that hasn’t left his chest since Eddie arrived this morning. He wants Eddie with him here forever and he thinks -- no, he  _ knows, _ that they’ll get there eventually. This might be the first Thanksgiving they’re able to spend together, but he knows that it absolutely will not be the last.

And when next Thanksgiving rolls around, and they’re all one year older and a little more healed but gathered in Richie, and now Eddie’s, house once again, he gets down on one knee and asks for Eddie to be his forever. Eddie -- and Harold -- both say yes, of course. Harold barks when they kiss, and Richie knows this is his future.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and I'm very thankful to be here with you all <3
> 
> You can find me on twitter @edskasper


End file.
